


I'll Be

by JJ1564



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Incest, M/M, Post-Episode: s11e17 Red Meat, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 06:16:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/pseuds/JJ1564
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set at the end of S11's Red Meat - Dean realizes how close he was to losing Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: This is my ninth fic for the fandomhits challenge on Live Journal, based on I’ll Be by Edwin McCain  
> Disclaimer: The characters do not belong to me, but they own, and frequently break, my heart!  
> A/N Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Please let me know if you spot any bloopers.

“Holy shit, Sammy,” Dean growled as he sat behind the wheel of the Impala. “I really thought I’d lost you back there.”

He had kept it together in the hospital; he’d sat waiting with Michelle while his brother was stitched up and given a blood transfusion, then he’d sat at Sam’s bedside as he came round from the anesthetic.

Now it was all over, they were ready to leave, and it all hit him like a shit-ton of bricks. His hands shook as he grasped the wheel and he couldn’t seem to get enough air in his lungs. His ribs hurt but that was nothing new – it wasn’t the first time they’d been cracked and bruised and very probably wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m okay, Dean,” Sam slid across the bench seat and patted his knee, “I’m really sorry I scared you,”

“I can’t lose you…not now…fuck…can’t breathe…” Dean gasped. Great, now he was having a panic attack. He hated that expression, as Dean-fucking-Winchester never panicked, but unfortunately he had experienced the fuckers before, after his time in hell.

“Dean, calm down, it’s okay,” Sam held his arms and pulled him round to face him. Luckily he had experience of Dean’s ‘not’ panic attacks, too. “C’mon, look at me, Dean, that’s it; now breathe with me, in…out…in…out.”

Dean breathed as calmly as he could, willing his limbs to stop shaking. Sam was holding his hands now, rubbing his long thumbs over his palms. Dean concentrated on the feel of Sam’s hands in his, on the comforting circles Sam’s thumbs were creating, and on his breathing; Sam continued to speak to him quietly, calmly.

Dean managed to look into Sam’s eyes, and almost wished he hadn’t - they were so fucking breathtaking, and he needed all the breath he had right now. Sam’s eyes were amazing, they always looked a slightly different color, with strands of gold in them that colored them wonderful. Fuck, here he was having a panic attack and thinking sappy thoughts. When exactly did he grow boobs? He had a sudden thought of Jody and laughed at how she’d kick his ass if he said that out loud.

“What’s so funny?” Sam frowned, concerned, and no doubt thinking hysteria was kicking in now.

Dean reluctantly removed his hands from Sam, putting them back to on the wheel. He was breathing almost normally now and his shaking had reduced to a slight tremor in his hands.

“I was thinking about…” your wonderful eyes he wanted to say, but changed it to “…things, and I wondered when I’d grown a pair of boobs, then I imagined Jody’s reaction if I said that.”

“Jody would so kick your ass,” Sam grinned, “I’m pleased you’re feeling better now,”

“Thanks, House,“ Dean smiled back before swigging from the bottle of water Sam handed him; “I’m pleased you’re okay, too,”. He handed the bottle back, feeling a little rush as their fingers brushed. He started Baby, wanting nothing more than to get back to the Bunker and lie in bed with Sam, just holding him, knowing he was alive, safe, right there with him.

“D’you want me to drive?” Sam asked, “I mean, after your…”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about me,” Dean reassured him; “you’re in no fit state to drive anyway,”

“True,” Sam yawned and settled himself as comfortably as his long legs and sore stomach would allow. Sam was soon asleep, snoring softly; luckily he was accustomed to sleeping to the blaring background of AC/DC, Led Zep and whoever else Dean needed to drive to.

Dean sighed heavily, trying not to think of Sam’s lifeless body laid out on the floor. He was pleased Sam had shot that son-of a-bitch Corbin, but he also wished he’d been the one to end that murderous bastard’s life. He and Sam had risked their lives to rescue him and his wife, and he’d repaid them by suffocating Sam. Fucking bastard.

Anger was good; it kept him alert and he needed that, as he had a long drive ahead. Perhaps he should break the journey at a motel, but the need for his own bed, with his memory foam now remembering him and Sammy, was too strong.

Sam was his reason to survive, his proof that life was worth living.

Whenever Dean had dropped out or burned up, he’d remembered the things Sam said. It was Sam - his love, his laugh, his eyes, his smile, his dimples, his stupid hair, his long legs, his muscular body -that had made Dean fight his way back from the dead. Sam had helped him live again after hell; he had been the reason Dean had fought so hard to escape from Purgatory; he had been the reason Dean had fought against the Mark.

Dean wiped away tears and tried to feel anger again. He had come so close to losing Sam, and to a fucking human; okay, the guy had been bitten by a werewolf, but his decision to kill Sam hadn’t been because of the monster he was becoming. It had been because of the monster he already was, full of selfishness, fear and need.

Dean finally admitted defeat when his tired eyes could barely stay open, no matter how angry he felt. He knew trying to do a 20-hour drive was too ambitious after all he’d been through. And he wasn’t going to think about the stunt he’d pulled, or about what Billie had said. He couldn’t think about any of that, couldn’t admit how terrified he had been, had to bury it, bury it all deep. And there was no way Sam would ever know about his run-in with the feisty reaper.

He pulled into the first motel he came across, nudging Sam awake, “Wakey, wakey princess, your castle awaits,”

“Wha’…where’re we…” Sam groaned as he sat up straight and Dean knew he’d made the right decision to stop. Sam needed to sleep in a bed, even if it was in a shitty motel bed.

“I’m gonna check in, you wait there,” Dean climbed out and stretched, immediately regretting the movement as his ribs gave a painful protest.

“Okay,” Sam murmured, looking as pale and pained as Dean felt. Fuck their lives.

Dean was checked in by a surly teenage boy, who obviously hated being torn away from his computer game to actually do his job. There was only a king-sized bed available, but Dean didn’t mind. Gone were the days when they opted for two queens, pretending they weren’t longing to share the same bed.

To his surprise, Sam was still sitting in the car as Dean returned. Dean had expected him to ignore his injury and be waiting by the car, with their duffels, ready to go in. He tapped the roof lightly and Sam startled, either he’d been dozing or lost in thought. He climbed out and stretched his aching body more cautiously than Dean had.

“Looks lovely,” Sam grimaced, glancing at the motel’s peeling paintwork and grimy windows.

“Yeah, your typical luxury motel,” Dean agreed, “but we’ve stayed in worse,”

When Dean opened the door and was hit by the smell of stale cigarette smoke, urine and sweat, he doubted it.

“Leave the door open for a bit,” Sam suggested, “let some air in and the stench out,”

“Good idea,” Dean nodded, depositing their duffels on the small table and resisting the urge to collapse on the bed.

“Man, I need a shower, I hope there’s hot water,” Sam ran his fingers through his hair.

“Me too,” Dean agreed, “and we need to eat, but I can’t face a diner right now. Pizza?”

“Sure, I’m pretty hungry,” Sam opened the door to the shower room and grinned; “well, it’s grubby, but it’s big enough for two,”

Dean returned his grin. Even after several weeks of sharing showers, sharing beds and sharing some amazing sex, it was still so new and exciting. All the feelings Dean had denied for so long were now allowed free rein. He walked over to Sam and took his hands in his, ignoring the smell of urine and detergent that drifted from the shower room.

“I don’t say it enough, Sammy, but I…I love you,” Dean whispered, gazing into Sam’s eyes.

“You don’t need to say it, Dean,” Sam smiled, lifting Dean’s hands and kissing his knuckles.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Dean smiled back, feeling happy and soppy.

“That’s because we belong together,” Sam leaned in to kiss Dean’s lips, adding, “and we deserve to love and be loved, after all the heartache,”

“Damn,” Dean licked his lips, tasting Sam, “I wish you could fuck me into that mattress,”

“Me too, but that’s gonna have to wait ‘til we’re a little less banged-up,”

Dean sighed and pulled away from Sam, “I’m gonna order us some food. You start off in the shower and I’ll join you,”

“Hey, Dean,” Sam caught his arm, “just being with you is enough right now, and we’ll have plenty of chances to make up for lost time,”

“I know, and for now, as soon as we’re clean and fed, I’m gonna wrap you in my arms and fall asleep listening to you snore,”

“I don’t snore!” Sam protested, “You do, you’re the king of snorting and huffing,”

“I don’t snort or huff!” Dean retorted.

“Whatever, just hurry up and get your fine ass into the shower,” Sam growled, “if I can’t fuck it, at least I can admire it,”

“Oh Sammy, you say the sweetest things!” Dean fluttered his eyelashes and Sam chuckled.

Soon they were both naked, under the tepid shower spray, stroking each other’s battered bodies gently, reverently. Sam had a large bandage over his wound, which the nurse had assured him was waterproof. There were bruises around Sam’s throat and Dean kissed them, nuzzling into Sam’s neck. “Pretty pleased you’re not dead,” Dean murmured, running his hands over Sam’s broad shoulders.

“I’m pretty pleased, too,” Sam replied, his own hands travelling down Dean’s chest, gently moving past his damaged ribs. “I hate seeing you hurt,”

“You should be used to it by now,” Dean moved his head closer to kiss Sam’s lips.

“I’ll never get used to it,” Sam moaned as Dean pulled away.

“I hate it too, Sam.” Dean admitted; “Hey, once this Amara chick is sorted out, let’s become florists or bakers,”

“Something safe,” Sam nodded, “I can see you arranging flowers,”

“I can see you arranging cupcakes,” Dean retorted, “and you’d better make me pie.”

They laughed, then stroked each other’s skin, reassuring each other that they were alive, they were together.

After the shower, they pulled on boxers and t-shirts and lay on the bed to eat their meat feast pizza and drink beer, although both of them were on painkillers that the doc had warned didn’t mix well with booze. They’d avoid the hard stuff anyway. They watched an old Western while they ate and were both more than ready for sleep soon afterwards.

Sam fell asleep in Dean’s arms; Dean would never admit it, but he loved hearing Sam’s deep, regular breathing. It was soothing to listen to, and although the mattress was lumpy and the room still smelt stale, Dean wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now. Sam was here, he was alive and he was in Dean’s arms.

“I’ll be here when you wake up, Sammy,” Dean whispered, “I’ll be yours forever, I’ll be the greatest love of your life, just like you’re mine,” he kissed Sam’s forehead and soon drifted off, with Sam in his arms, exactly where they belonged.


End file.
